When I think back to my
time in Tuva, even after much time has passed, I can still barely convince
myself that it actually happened. I was there! The new experiences and feelings
left such impressions, such vivid memories of adventures and tribulations in that
peculiar land called Tuva that they take the foreground among all my various
travels.

The start was typical. An August night spent in the waiting lounge of Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow. We, members of WWF were siting on our bags waiting for a flight to Abakan – the first stop on our route. We would then go from a nearby village by boat along the Enesei river down to Kyzyl – the capital of Tuva. Then we would traverse this remote Russian region to the Mongolian border. The journey caused a sort of epiphany. We understood ourselves, our friendship, and how fragile the natural order of things are. We saw how radically different cultures can be and be a part of our world’s diverse heritage.

Siberia… much is said
and written about this land, but for every traveller the story is different,
although going back to city life in some concrete mess is equally boring for
all. As soon as one is home, one experiences a strong nostalgia, a despondence
about the city and a vying for the rugged endlessness of the Taiga or the
rushing Enesei. It is the contrast of smells from the rivers or forests and the
almost paranormal way in which a ruckus from your boat’s engine is replaced by
complete silence when you stop. Occasionally you even lose yourself in the
blues-ness that surrounds – the sky mirroring the rive – and it is as if you
are briefly transposed to a timeless dimension.

It is astonishing to think about how hardy our ancestors were, that they managed to make a living in this wild land. This ruggedness can be seen in the village Shushenskoe, where a museum to the settlers, named after Lenin, still stands. You can see the conserved way of life of centuries passed. There are photos of the century old oaks used for the houses, you can see how pristine the nature was and still is – how warm the Russian fireplaces kept the settlers and reinvigorated them for further heroism. Further along are the faces of the settlers, the Tuvans and many others – which all illuminate their welcoming and warm souls which remains so to this day.

Who comes to mind
first? Perhaps the museum volunteers – who recreated the village with their own
hands, conserving tradition for the next generation, learning by heart ancient
Russian songs… and our hosts – the directors of the local national park, whose
diligent labour seems an art in its professionalism, whose humour and wit
inspire, to whom we can rightfully trust the protection of these beautiful
lands to which they are rather evidently devoted to. I remember the Tuvan
nomads, tending to their flocks, returning nightly to their yurts in the
mountain valleys of Tannu-Ol and Sengilen. The days we spent in their yurts
will always remain unforgettable, as unforgettable as the people who invited us
into their home having never met us before, fed us and treated us with ak chem
– the local diary delicacies. They proudly showed us their horses and land –
rain or shine! Can they ever be forgotten?

But most importantly,
we coughed up all the city soot, washed off the dust and re-joined a way of
life that perhaps our ancestors enjoyed. Maybe back when the Earth was loosely
populated by pioneers, our forefathers enjoyed this clean life – both mentally
and physically? They enjoyed true comradeship, mutual care and understanding
amongst disparate human tribes. We revisited something long lost and yet more
worth keeping than anything else. During the journey, the eyes were cameras,
and memory was a tape, vividly stored in the display cabinet of my mind
forevermore.

Alexander won the New Star singing competition. He was a KVN star – a show where stand-up teams from across the country compete. His concerts are always sold out. A powerful energy resonates from his singing, which captivates audiences. He has his own and music and also reimagines classics in his work. Thankfully, Alexander found the time to give us an interview after one of his recording sessions at Buin Khan studios.

Alexander Kuular

Tyva.me: Why did you decide to play music and what influenced your decision?

I started studying music a long time ago, grade one onwards I studied at a music school. Then finished a piano course, and there I became acquainted with the world of real music. Then I played KVN, eventually turning to throat singing.

Tyva.me: What are your favourite genres?

My creativity is a mix of ethnomusic and modern hits, pop-rock. I take inspiration by listening to these directions.

Tyva.me: Why did you choose throat singing?

Firstly, my grandfather and his brother are famous khoomeizhi (throat singers) in the Republic of Tyva. They travelled all over the world, performed throat singing, told people about it, so I continue in their footsteps. I adapt my work to the advent of new technologies, music trends, and so on.

Tyva.me: How hard is throat singing from a technical point of view?

It is not easy – the first steps are accompanied by unpleasant feelings. When playing songs, the throat muscle involved are that usually do not strain in everyday life. The feeling is like when you do a tough session at the gym after a month on the couch.

Tyva.me: What is your favourite performance format and what sort of feedback do you get?

In a club – it allows you to communicate with the audience, to dance. The concert format, where people have to sit, not so much. When the boundaries between the artist and the audience are erased, everyone gets the most possible pleasure.

Tyva.me: Do you find experimenting with different genres easy?

In 2013, I took songs from pop, alternative, rock and started working with them. It was not easy, because nobody had done this yet, I was afraid of the viewer, I did not know how they could react. Now I am working on a new project, because it is necessary to constantly develop my creativity. We also do a joint project with Buin Khan studio. Performing with dancers, even a shaman, produces a global, powerful effect.

Tyva.me: Have you every performed in front of people who have never heard throat singing before?

This happens often. The viewer is always fascinating, many are in a complete daze. These sounds are unusual, but at the same time, it seems subconsciously that you heard them somewhere. Guttural singing is a human imitation of the sounds of nature and animals. Everyone’s genetic memory, somewhere deep down has the sounds of thunder, birds, falling water. Everyone feels these sounds, but they do not understand why they get such sensations. This applies not only to the peoples of Siberia, but pretty much everyone.

Tuva.me: You are a semi-finalist of large-scale television projects, you performed in the KVN programs, so you know how to entertain. How do we increase the interest of young people in folk and national music?

I started with covers of famous songs, the first song “Rolling in the deep” received more than a million views on YouTube. After the release of the video, people from different parts of the world wrote to me and asked to tell about throat singing, and some even set out to visit us in Tyva. All means are good, television projects, singing covers, etc, the key elements are to surprise and attract attention.

Tyva.me: What are your goals? Will you perform in Tyva anytime soon?

Tyva is the place where I was born and raised, I come there every summer. I am happy to go there and speak. It is more difficult to perform in Tuva because the competition from other throat singers is tough – it is more difficult to surprise the viewer.

Tyva.me: How has throat singing changed your life?

At first, I was a screenwriter, I was writing scripts for television, entertainment shows, playing in KVN. When I came out from behind the scenes onto the stage, everything changed.

I have my own online master class, after the launch of which I got letters from people from every corner of our world. I realised that throat singing is a culture not limited to Siberia. I have a friend from Italy who has his own little school of throat singers! The peoples of the Arab countries have their own throat singing different from us: the performers imitate the roar of lions. Tuvans, Mongols imitate the sounds of camels. That is, the fauna they had to deal with. Maybe in the future I will study this question, write an academic paper or book… Who knows?

This article continues our series of “Travel Notes” by the folk musician and journalist Maria Kirilova. Maria kindly suggested writing travel notes for tyva.me during a trip to Tuva this year for the celebration of Shagaa – the Tuvan New Year. Maria will share her insights about the sternly beautiful winter of Tuva, how the Tuvinians survive in the -40 degree frosts, how the Shagaa is celebrated, and what is sung in the winter folk songs.

Author: Maria Kirilova

It was still dark, when we got off a train Novosibirsk-Abakan in the freezing morning. A driver met us to take to a maral farm, and then finally to Kyzyl. It became my tradition to enter Kyzyl at dawn and leave at sunset. So it happened again. As soon as the sun lit up our path, my eyes saw what I wanted to see: snowy steppes and fluffy mountains. In the summer, the steppes looked comfortable and soft, like trampolines , and I could not imagine how they would look during winter. Their image was now stern! The northern landscape of cold whites, blues and greys was by no means unfriendly, but commanded respect for sure.

The weather was sunny when we arrived in Turan . Animals were kept in large pens of land, females separated from males. An iron grid separated them from the visitors. However, as the driver said, he is not often asked to come here, and today we were, it seems, the only guests. Most of the marals (local red deer) had small horns. When they grow up, they are cut and used as components for various medicines. Female marals showed more curiosity about the passing car, but people with cameras still preferred to move away. Some males engaged in power displays despite the modest size of the horns.

I visited the Centre of Asia in Kyzyl earlier, but I inspected it more thoroughly during my second visit. I won’t describe the monument again, instead share the memory of the huge and impressive sheets of ice across the frozen Yenesei river. Its huge width brought the message home that Kyzyl is “on the Yenisei”, and not just next to it. Vivaldi, reproduced on the embankment, brought a funny dissonance with it. To be accurate, when we just came up, it sounded “Summer” from the “Seasons” cycle. Selection of European classical music in the Centre of Asia sounded unforgettable.

After walking around the city a little more, we met an interesting person who finally explained to me why the Tuvans often say that they had once been blond and blue-eyed. As it turned out, these were still not exactly Tuvans, but other peoples who came to Tuva to avoid flooding in their lands. I hoped to learn more about it the day tomorrow at the National Museum.

Soon we had already settled in a rented apartment, and next day we had a meeting with a shaman and a visit to the museum. Further to my list of culinary impressions, I added a hodgepodge and lamb in the cafe “Choduraa”. Food is pleasantly cheap out here. I was looking forward to the next day.

The essay sums up the author’s reflections in the field of musical anthropology, with the focus on how ethnic music is understood by listeners with a different cultural background.

Sean P. Quirk Independent author, USA

The author was born and grew up in the USA. He graduated from Macalester College in Saint Paul, MN with a bachelor’s degree in music and classical languages. On a Fulbright grant, in 2003 he first came to Tuva to study Tuvan throat singing, culture and language. He took classes from many famous xöömeiji of Tuva. During his subsequent visits, the author improved his command of the xöömei (as well as the Tuvan language, which he speaks fluently) and worked in the National Orchestra of Tuva. In 2008 he was awarded the title of People’s Artist of Tuva. Since 2015, he has worked at the Center for the Tuvan Traditional Arts and Crafts, while continuing to perform with the National Orchestra of Tuva. Since 2006, he has also worked with Alash, a Tuvan folklore music band. As their manager, producer, sound engineer and translator, the author organized a number of tours around the world, visiting many countries. He also produced their three studio albums. A number of concerts took place at US educational institutions (schools and colleges). In this article, the author focuses on the reactions from people who for the first time in their lives had heard Tuvan music with the astounding effect it usually has on its audience. His observations in anthropology are of significant interest for such fields as musical studies, cultural anthropology, psychology, cultural studies, etc.

This last winter, after a lecture and presentation on Tuvan music with the members of Alash, Bady-Dorzhu Ondar, Ayan Shirizhik, and Ayan-ool Sam, at Macalester College, one of the undergraduate students approached us, thanking us for the great music and information. However, this wasn’t his first experience of Tuvan music. He informed us that he had seen us years ago, in the fourth grade, at his elementary school, in Vermont. The fact that this conversation was taking place at the Janet Wallace Fine Arts center of my alma mater, in St. Paul, MN, less than a mile from the apartment on Saratoga street where I had first heard Tuvan music nearly twenty years ago from the Huun-Huur-Tu album 60 Horses in my Herd, added extra weight to the feeling that hit me when this young man told us he had seen us before, at his elementary school, half of his lifetime ago. The feeling was of course an acute sense of the passage of time and it caused within me a deep reflection on the unique nature of our job as musician-ambassadors for the Republic of Tuva. I reflected not only the personal journey I had taken as an American adopted by Tuva, seeking to find the best way to connect the people of my two home-places through music, but also on the journeys that Alash has inspired in some if not many of the thousands of students of all ages who have witnessed Alash’s performance of Tuvan music.

The first time I had the task of presenting Tuvan music in schools in America, I had to do it by myself, without the help of Alash. It was fall of 2004 and I had just come back from my first year in Tuva, which I had spent learning from and playing with the Tuvan National Orchestra in Kyzyl. Among the many other transformative events that happened during my first year here, I had occasionally worked with and taught members of the wind instrument department at the local music school, specifically the saxophone players. During my year and Tuva I had watch them undertake a phenomenal progression from playing Glenn Miller tunes when I arrived in the fall to taking the stage with the Sun Ra Arkestra. That band’s first visit sparked a fire for learning in the jazz musicians of Tuva the results of which can be seen today in the successful career of the Tuvan Wind Orchestra. Their biggest problem at the time was a dearth of decent musical instruments and all of their attendant accessories. When I left Tuva in October of 2004, I promised to bring them musical supplies upon my return to Tuva. That bargain began to bear fruit immediately upon my return, and those fruit are still being plucked today by myself, the members of Alash, and thousands of young people in my homeland, the United States.

I had grown up learning music at the local music store, Brass Bell, taking saxophone lessons there with Dave Melstrand for all of my high school years. When I came back from Tuva that first year, the children of the owners, who were my age, had taken over management of the store from their parents. When I approached them on making a deal about acquiring quality music supplies at wholesale prices, they suggested that I present Tuvan music in the local middle schools as part of their musical outreach program in the area, and they would give me a few boxes of music supplies to send to Tuva — reeds, mouthpieces, rosin, strings, and other sundries. I wholeheartedly agreed to this effort, as it gave me a chance to do two things that I really enjoyed, performing Tuvan music, and teaching about it.

Kongar-ool Ondar. Master Tuvan throat singer

The whole thing ended up being a lot harder than I had imagined, for even though I had made great strides in my performance skills during my Fulbright year as a student and then member of the Tuvan National Orchestra, there was no way it was on a par with any Tuvan musician. Nonetheless, I did my best to share with them what I had learned about Tuva’s incredibly deep and fascinating music. While my xöömei was a far cry from any decent Tuvan’s, I managed to hack around well enough that it was only a few kids in each class who would involuntarily burst out laughing. I found out a few years later that having Alash ensemble with me presenting the music resulted in a lot less laughter and a much deeper connection for everyone.

When Alash was first invited to the United States in 2006, I had been back in Tuva for a couple years, living with my wife and working in the Tuvan National Orchestra as a bass doshpuluur player/ somewhat wacky Tuvan-speaking mascot. We came over with our teacher, Kongar-ool Ondar, as part of an exchange program that brought cultural leaders for small tours in the United States. Since a Tuvan-English speaking interpreter was required for the program, I was hired thanks not only to my proficiency in Tuvan but also a somewhat significant lack of competition in that field.

A part of that program included presenting Tuvan music to young people in some fairly disparate settings — a college campus, a couple of elementary schools, a home for youth who had been troubled with the law. Kongar-ool Ondar led the presentations and it was my task to convey his deeply-rooted and well-developed explanations of Tuvan music to the young people. This was when I realized that knowing two languages well is a completely different thing than being a good interpreter. As I conveyed our teacher’s words to the students, I found myself learning strategies for bringing the essence of this beautiful music, so eloquently presented in Tuvan by Kongar-ool, to complete foreigners, over a period of 45-minutes.

One of things I noticed that first tour was that of all the places we visited, the home for troubled youth was not only the most attentive and respectful, but also asked the most interesting questions. It was certainly the only place out of all the educational institutions we visited (all of them on the East Coast) where a member of the audience had had any experience with livestock animals. This was just one of a series of preconceived notions I had had about young people and their reaction to Tuvan music. As the years went by, many more of these notions were disproved. For instance, just as the very troubled kids in 2006 had been the most attentive and incisive, we found the very rich kids in Manhattan in 2007 were a fair bit more blasé about the occurrence of Tuvan Throat Singers at their schools — after all, we were there only a week after the Gamelan people.

That week on the Upper West Side was a grueling week that had followed that tour’s first grueling week, in and around Wylie, TX. Our first two school gigs in 2007 — our first tour without our teacher — served as an severe introduction to our physical limits as touring performers and a crucible for the development of a presentation of Tuvan culture that was efficient, informative, and conserved the strength of not only my own very talkative throat, but the vocal apparatus of my friends and colleagues, the singers of Alash. At the schools in Wylie, and Manhattan, we were presenting Tuvan music to classes 5-7 times a day for 5 days, with a couple evening concerts in mixed in to boot. Even though Bady, Ayan, Ayan-ool, and Mai-ool were in their early 20s at the time, the physical strain on them as performers became quickly evident, as we all felt wiped out at the end of those weeks, with 10 more weeks of tour to go.

This physical strain introduced me to the first reality of the professional performing Tuvan musician. Even though the question “Does it hurt?” that is so frequently asked in schools is always answered with an emphatic “no” by Alash, the veracity of which reply I can vouch for as a performer of xöömei myself, there is a limit to which even this surprisingly gently vocal art can be pushed. We learned that school administrators often do not take this into account when bringing Alash to their schools, and we have learned how to communicate to them that quantity does not equal quality when it comes to a presentation, for the reasonable limit seems to about 4 45-minute performances per day.

One of the ways to preserve the performer’s voice in a school presentation, of course, is for the presenter to talk more. While of course this is not ideal, a 60/40 ration of talking to music really helps the band’s health while still providing the students with ample opportunity to listen to Tuvan music live, oftentimes without sound amplification. The power of this music can be seen within the first seconds of Alash’s music. After a quick introduction to Tuva’s location on the map and the integrity and uniqueness of its culture, there is a moment which repeats itself at every performance, which I have had the honor to behold many times over 11 years.

Many school hosts, especially when we are working with younger kids, or a school known as “rowdy,” express concern about the foreign nature of Tuvan music and how their students will react. I calm their fears by telling them what will happen, because it has happened with such regularity over 11 years. When the band begins to sing, Ayan-ool starts out in a powerful, xöömei, chest voice for a single line, and then Bady and Ayan join in with him, in harmony, for the second line. It’s at this point that if there’s going to be someone who is going to laugh or chuckle, it happens here. Whatever reactions are happening at this point quickly stop, because after the second line, the band breaks into what you could call the ‘instrumental’ portion of the song — wordless xöömei, with Ayan-ool performing the piercing yet clean and soft whistle tone of sygyt over the top. This single sound adds to the power of the music in such a way that the reaction of the listener changes rapidly from one of awkward surprise at the unexpected volume and harsh-seeming timbre of xöömei to one of absolute wonderment as the song unravels into a wordless multiphonic harmony.

I have observed this reaction at every performance of Alash. In my unique position as observer of the observers, it is a never-ceasing pleasure for me to watch the faces of my countrymen from the land of my birth transform with joy, brought to them by my countrymen from the land of most of my adult life. This phenomenon happens to audiences everywhere, whether it is a fancy concert hall in New York, a brewpub in Ohio, or an elementary school gym in Alabama. Stacey Moriarty, the head of the Creative Arts and Sciences committee at Newton Public Schools in Newton, MA, describes this universal reaction well:

“Across the board students responded virtually the same-initially unsure, then intrigued, then appreciative, then wanting to share the experience. It sets the theme for the rest of the presentation as something that bears worth listening to, for though the students do not understand the language of the singers, the unexpected power of the music inspires a desire to learn more about the music.”

Over the rest of the presentation, following the template set for us by years of listening to our teacher’s eloquent explanations of Tuvan music for Tuvan and nonTuvan audiences, we strive to give the students as complete a picture of Tuva and its music as is possible in the time we have, using words and music. Through the music we attempt to create a picture of Tuva and its culture as a whole, reminding the students that while the music of Tuva has ancient roots and a deep connection with nature, the music is a living part of a culture that grows and changes as a full participant in the 21st century world. We teach the students about Tuva’s nomadic traditions and the role that those lifeways played in the development of the music.

I have learned over the course of these last eleven years how easy and tempting it can be as a foreigner presenting the music of Tuva to exoticize the art and the place it comes from. The ancient history of the music and place, its somewhat ‘mysterious’ status as a little-known minority group in a remote territory of Russia, the traditional lifeways of Tuva, and the unique vocal music are all important and fascinating features of Tuva as a culture, but as a cultural presenter and ambassador I have learned that it is crucial that audiences, especially in America, understand the musicians who sit in front of them represent not only an ancient and foreign art form but also a culture that is alive and actual and functioning, right now, today, in the 21st century.

One example that I often use in the presentation comes from an experience I had several years ago, when smartphones were still fairly not just here in Tuva but across the world, wherein I traveled to a friend’s herding camp not far from Kyzyl to pick up a goat. Driving my 1976 Moskvich-412 up to the camp, I was told that the goat I needed was further up the valley, where the men were haying. As I drove the dirt road up the grassy valley, the haymakers and their yurt presented an idyllic picture of times past, as several bare-chested men of various ages bore down on the long grass with their well-handled scythes. Upon entering the yurt, however, I was startled to discover the fellow I was looking for, from whom I was to receive the goat, intensely scrolling through his Facebook feed as he sipped from a steaming bowl of süttüg shai, the ancient and traditional Tuvan milky tea.

Reminding the students that Tuva is a place that exists in the 21st century while maintaining many ancient ways not only helps to combat the tendency to exoticize the music and musicians but also serves as a context for understanding that the music that Alash plays, and indeed the music of Tuva, is a living art form that while deeply rooted in its past, is not an art form that is immutable, but rather, by its very nature as a living tradition, is an art form that continues to grow and change and spread out from its roots, much like a great ancient tree, anchored in thick subterranean roots but bursting forth each season with a new array of leaves and colors, that changes and grows over long years, gaining and shedding branches and leaves, and yet remains the same tree.

There are of course many concrete examples of Alash’s effect on the schools we have visited, and here I would like to share just a few of them.

Stacey Moriarty of Newton Public Schools provides us with one such example, writing after a recent performance,

“Students talked about the concert with their teachers and parents. As director of the program I heard from both groups, so anecdotally I know this to be true. This quote from a teacher pretty much sums up the response, ‘I loved it! I think some of the students were having a hard time at first because they were out of their comfort zone. I saw many making funny faces at each other and others trying not to laugh. By the end of the performance, I think it more than accomplished what I think were some of the goals of exposing them to new kinds of music, thinking, cultures, etc.’ The success of an enrichment program is measured by whether students leave the auditorium feeling engaged and inspired. By this measure, Newton’s experience with Alash Ensemble was extremely successful!”

Dr. John Jinright of Troy, Alabama, writes of our visits to the schools, retirement centers, and university in Troy and the surrounding community, “The costumes and instruments were especially engaging, but we all shared a special connection when we heard their stories and heard their music. It was magical and unlike anything we’ve ever presented. It helped us connect to a truly beautiful land and people.” Damon Postle of the University of Georgia elaborates on this, saying

“When Alash performed at U of Georgia, the audience was a mix of undergraduate students, graduate students, faculty and a few community members. As I surveyed the room, all I saw were smiles and mesmerized eyes. In the days after the performance my colleagues and faculty advisers came to me, talking about the performance and finally understood what I am studying here. Before a performance, Tuva was a far flung place and throat singing was implied by making a crooked face, a few weird vowel tones and growling. After the performance, Tuva was real and people began to understand the music. In some ways, I think the university visits are potentially more important, especially if the targeted audience is music education majors, as they will be in the public schools more than the musicology/performance/theory majors and tasked with teaching not only Western music, but music of the world through all grades.”

An even more striking example of the effects of Tuvan music on students comes from a visit to the school district in Springfield, VT, a community that was once a center of manufacturing but had long since fallen on hard times with the loss of manufacturing jobs overseas, like many places in America. Also like many places in America this working-class community was struggling with the problems of methamphetamine and opioids, and the teachers warned us that the kids could be ‘kind of rowdy’ and ‘not to take it personally’ if they reacted poorly to our performance. We came and did our performance and lecture in the old but beautiful school auditorium, for hundreds of these ‘rowdy’ kids. The 45 minutes went by quickly and at the end of the performance, these underprivileged children and overworked teachers rose to their feet and gave us a standing ovation. A couple of kids came up to us after the concert and told us they wanted to learn to throat sing. When they asked us what they could do, we gave them a CD and we told them to listen and practice.

Two years later, we were invited back to the school district thanks to the impression that Alash had made on the children. Once again we did our performance, and once again we were received warmly. At the end of the performance, the school librarian, Cynthia Hughes, asked us to stay where we were, as they had a ‘surprise’ for us. Wheeling out an old overhead projector, she placed a transparency upon it and summoned a tall bearded man with a guitar, simultaneously picking up her own guitar. We could not see what was being projected on the screen, as it was behind us, but their first chords were awfully familiar. And then, reading off of the projected words on the screen, the entire school began singing in Tuvan. They were singing a song called by many different names, including “Ene-Sai” and “Ancestors,” a song that had been included on Alash’s first album. While we were busy being bowled over by this massive and unexpected serenade, we did not see the three young students approaching the microphones on stage. We did notice them however when, in between verses, the three of them began performing very credible versions of Tuvan throat singing styles — specifically, xöömei, sygyt, and kargyraa, which while by no means refined were quite good for some 12-year old kids from southeastern Vermont. They were the same kids that had come up to us after our first performance, and when we asked them how they learned, they said, “we listened, and we practiced.”

A final example comes from Theodore Levin, ethnomusicologist on the faculty of Dartmouth College. I wrote him asking for his thoughts about the unique relationship Dartmouth shares with Tuvan music and musicians, and the following paragraphs comprise a summation of his response. Dartmouth’s relationship stems from Levin’s own work as the first American ethnomusicologist to travel to Tuva and study its music, starting in 1987. Thanks to Levin’s work, Tuvan music has been an integral part of the world music program at Dartmouth and Dartmouth students have had the opportunity to engage with Tuvan musicians 25 years. Regarding this unique relationship, Dr. Levin writes “the advantages of presenting live music to supplement reading, listening, and viewing assignments cannot be underestimated,” citing the case of Dartmouth, where he uses his own extensive experience in the scholarly study of Tuva and draws on his own audio and video recordings, book, and articles as resources for class assignments, presentations, and discussions. Nonetheless, he writes,

“These resources nonetheless pale in comparison to the power of live music performed by expert musicians in an intimate setting to touch and inspire student listeners.” As an example, Levin mentions Alash’s most recent visit to Dartmouth in winter of 2017, where Alash made a brief visit to the college, performing two 45minute sets in the evening and participated in two world music classes the next day, each with around 30 students. In preparation for the class, the students were assigned reading from a draft version Levin and Dr. Valentina Suzukei’s upcoming book chapter regarding “timbre-centered listening” in the soundscape of Tuva. Dr. Levin also asked his students to write a short critique after the evening performance, in response to this prompt: “Like other musicians we’ve encountered this term, the three members of Alash (Bady-Dorzhu Ondar, Ayan-ool Sam, Ayan Shirizhik) work in a zone of artistic hybridity in which elements of tradition and innovation blend to create a unique musical style. Based on your understanding of music from Tuva and neighboring regions of historically nomadic Inner Asia, describe Alash’s music, and in particular, the way in which the group both preserves and transcends the conventions of indigenous musical styles and traditions. As a music critic, how would you assess their artistic success?”

Dr. Levin also informed us about this critique assignment prior to the class visits the following day, and we spent both of the class periods discussing and listening to Alash’s presentation of Tuvan music in the context of this question. We left Dartmouth that afternoon for a quick dash to Portland, Maine for an evening concert that night and continued on the rest of the tour, the demands of the road leaving no time for contemplation on the effect we’d had on these young minds, making for a pleasant surprise when Ted later wrote me about the final projects for his course, a requirement that can take the form of either a research paper or a creative project such as a composition, improvisation, video, etc.

“Quite a few students, most of them working in small groups, chose to do projects inspired by their brief encounter with Alash. Among the most interesting was a video that showed a group of three students “nomadizing” in the environs of Dartmouth and reciting poetry they’d written themselves about their favorite places on campus. At the end, they all sang a version of the song “Ödügen Taiga” with their own lyrics and natural sound effects. Another project featured one student improvising a version of “Tooruktug Dolgay Tangdym” on the piano while her classmate, a talented artist, quickly created a pen and ink drawing of a galloping horse that was overflowing with kinetic energy. Several student cobbled together their own Tuvan “fusion” pieces using Garage Band to loop and layer cuts from different musical sources.The most impressive of the Tuvan-inspired projects was that of a young woman who made her own Jew’s harp from scratch and learned to play it. Year after year, student evaluations of Dartmouth’s “Global Sounds” course overwhelmingly mention the visit of Tuvan musicians as one of the course’s highlights. It is clear that exposure to live music performed by musicians of the highest quality offers an unparalleled resource for university-level music education.”

In this way, over 11 years, Alash has performed for several thousands of young people in the United States. In the context of Tuva as a unique culture that is a cultural minority within the greater Russian Federation, this is important work in the sense of Tuva’s representation in the greater world. Tuva’s music has gained a level of cultural cache in the global consciousness that could be considered rare for an ethnic group comprising approximately 300,000 people. Not only has this music served as a cultural calling card for a one little-known culture, it has affected the lives of very many people who have been inspired in one way or another by their encounter with Tuva, leaving an impression that will last for a long time in the memories of the young listeners as they embark on their life journeys, grow, change, create, and eventually tell their own children about the real, yet magical place called Tuva and it’s beautiful music.

This article continues our series of “Travel Notes” by the folk musician and journalist Maria Kirilova. Maria kindly suggested writing travel notes for tyva.me during a trip to Tuva this year for the celebration of Shagaa – the Tuvan New Year. Maria will share her insights about the sternly beautiful winter of Tuva, how the Tuvinians survive in the -40 degree frosts, how the Shagaa is celebrated, and what is sung in the winter folk songs.

Author: Maria Kirilova

Greetings, lovers of Tuva! This is probably my last pre-trip note. I am now ready for the trip having booked a hostel in Kyzyl and celebrated the band leader’s and my birthday with a loud concert featuring Arthur Berkut, a local musician. Now that everything including travel is booked, we are ready to embark on our expedition!

Today, according to Google, the weather in Kyzyl is only (yes, ‘only’) -19 degrees. I refuse to go unprepared and have sorted myself some seasonally decorated felt boots! Other body armour included a lot of woollen sweaters, thermals, scarves, doublets … the list goes on and on.

Our agenda for the trip has been written up, among the appointments, I will visit the café-yurt “Tos-Karak”, where I will learn more about national Tuvan cuisine, then the celebration of Shagaa at the shepherds’ camp, the meeting with the shaman and participation in the workshops on the game on national instruments from the Centre of Tuvan culture. Of course, I have to visit the National Museum. We’ve done our best to pack our agenda like a can of sardines. We are going back to Abakan on the 19th and so there is some left for impromptu meetings and events. Everything I find interesting, I will try to report on with as much detail as possible!

I got a bunch of letters asking me whether I will perform on stage during my trip to Tuva, and the answer is sadly no. I am travelling without my band and I would only want to be on stage with them. My solo program is still being developed. That being said, I am sure to meet a few fans along the way and am always open to new acquaintances.

I also want to thank everyone who has helped me, left feedback or simply follows these little ‘Travel Notes’. Separately, I want to thank the Ministry of Communications of Tuva, the Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Tuva and personally Aldar Tamdin for their support. Every offer of help or new idea makes my trip better, and my “Notes” are more interesting.

PS: I am going to participate in the TV program “Running on Tuva” by OVAA TV! Very excited!

I don’t remember exactly when I first saw Ustuu-Huree. As far as I can remember , there was always a place for Ustu-Huree in my heart. For me, it is not just a place of personal pilgrimage or ancestral relic. When I accidentally hear or read the words “Ustu-Huree”, these majestic ruins immediately appear before my eyes. Prior to a trip to Ustu-Huree, I always get butterflies in my stomach as if I’m going out on a date with a loved one after a long separation. While praying, closing my eyes, I see the ruins of Ustu-Huree. I believe that the energy that it radiates, gives me strength and helps persevere through life’s challenges. It is enough to visit this place once and you will understand what I’m writing about. You will surely want to return, enthralled by the temple.

Thousands of people from all over the world come to see Ustu-Huree annually, to visit the festival of world music there. Every year since 1999, a festival was held there to raise funds to restore the temple. It was restored, but first, some history.

Original photo link: https://b1.culture.ru/c/100523.jpg

The majestic Buddhist monastery was founded in 1905 by the Noah Noyon of the Haidyp. The temple complex was built by Chinese architects which took them two years. The Tibetan Lama Kuntana Rimpoche was also invited to work on the project. During those days religion played much greater role in the lives of Tuvan people than it plays today. Residents of all villages of the Daa kozhuun (district) assembled to help construction efforts. To this day, for residents of Dzun-Khemchik, Sut-Kholsky, Ovursky, Bai-Taiginsky, Barun-Khemchik, Cha-Kholsky and Ulug-Khemsky districts, which were once part of the Da’a kozhuun, Ustu-Huree remains the greatest shrine.

After a serving the people for a quarter of a century the monastery was closed in 1930. In 1937 communists completely destroyed it, but the clay walls remained. Lamas who served in Ustu-Huree, were repressed and executed.

Despite the ban on religious practice, the ruins of the temple served as a reminder for the Tuvan people about the faith of their ancestors. 55 years after the destruction of the temple in 1992, His Holiness the Dalai Lama XIV visited Tuva. The power which came from the ancient ruins impressed him, and he said that the lamp of the temple had not yet gone out.

Encouraged by this message religious Tuvans began to revive the temple. In 1999, Igor Dulush with a team of like-minded people first organised the Chadan Festival to increase public awareness of the need to restore the temple. The festival is held annually in the Chadane, helping local and other folk musicians showcase their art for a good cause.

A new temple was built according to the model of the destroyed Ustu-Huree temple near the ruins. The visit of the Dalai Lama and the festival gave new life to the temple. Today, prayers are held there, lamas receive believers and collectively revive the ancient monastery.

The territory of the temple Ustu-Huree is an amazing place. In my school years, my classmates and I fulfilled a pilgrimage there in temperatures far below zero. We were going to have fun, but with good in mind. We crossed a 6-kilometre path in one direction easily and cheerfully, and were praying on the way back home. We had nowhere to get warm, but none of us fell ill after this trip, despite the unfriendly weather. In fact, the trip gave us energy, as opposed to taking it away!

Ustu-Huree is a special place of power, where each of us, irrespective of religion and nationality acquires peace of mind and harmony with the world. It is surely worth coming to Tuva just to experience this ancient relic.

— I live in a city, I saw camels in the zoo and yaks — only in the form of socks. Thus, started my journey to the Altai and Tuva…

We drove along the Chuysky tract. We asked a guide if we could see camels. He said it was unlikely. There weren’t many herders here on the road this season, and people usually met them only a couple of times a journey. Lo and behold a herd was trotting softly right at us us!

And then we rode through the Tuvan steppes. A beautiful jade-green sea of grass, horses, cows, and among them large shaggy creatures with horns … I could not believe my own eyes, that voice in my head was sceptical – “Come on, real yaks?” They look a bit stern. But then you see this Dulux-dog looking cow roll side to side on the riverbank and can’t help to exclaim “oh how cute!”

There are countless herds of goats and sheep (real ones) on the mountain slopes. The handsome black one on the photo lost his mother, then saw me and came to chew my fingers. I was so touched that I couldn’t not even focus my camera properly.

Tuvan groundhogs were out and about but for their fatness they run to shelter quickly. So much so that I wasn’t able to take a photo.

Share this:

Tuva is a Siberian region of Russia, bordering on Mongolia. The republic may be difficult to access, but we contend that that adds mystery and purity. The pristine nature and untouched culture of the Republic of Tyva attracts only the most daring urbanites, who have long been bored with the typical touristy destinations.

If you crave wild travels, unforgettable impressions and great stories to tell, you’re driven off the grid, and that’s exactly where Tyva is. It is only possible to experience such vivid emotions in the heart of Asia – in Tyva. Thus, Tyva.me launches a series of articles where readers will learn about the unusual places in Tuva and reveal to themselves the mysteries of the ancient land of the Scythians.

The golden mean of Asia was determined in 1910. The image of the obelisk symbolising the centre of Asia has undergone many changes over the years. According to available sources, the geographical centre of Asia was first mentioned in the book “Essay on the Uryanghai Territory (the Mongolian Basin of the Yenisei River).” The author of the book is the engineer of communications, the head of the party for the study of the Upper Yenisei, VM Rodevich. The researcher mentioned that an English traveller came to Urianghai. His personal mission was to see the geographical centre of Asia for himself. He had already visited the centres of Europe, Africa, and Australia. According to his calculations, the centre of Asia is located near the estate of Georgy Safyanov, which was 23 versts (approx. 24 km) lower than Biy-Khem and Kaa-Khem on the left bank of the Yenisei.

At the start of the last century, the middle of the Asian continent was marked by an obelisk in Safyanov’s courtyard. Half a century later, in 1964, the centre of Asia was transformed. A concrete obelisk replaced the wooden one. The heart of Asia was symbolised with a globe on a two-meter squared pedestal with an ascending trihedral spire. On the pedestal was the inscription “Centre of Asia” in three languages: Tuvan, Russian and English.

The author of the obelisk, established in honour of the 20th anniversary of the voluntary entry of the Tuvan People’s Republic into Russia, was the oldest artist of the Republic – Vasily Fadeevich Dyomin. Exactly 50 years, the obelisk of Dyomin served as a symbol of the centre of Asia. The Republic celebrated an important historical date – the 100th anniversary of the Union of Tuva with Russia. In 2014, to celebrate the big event, the centre of Asia radically changed its appearance.

Excavations of two mounds, namely “Arzhaan 1” and “Arzhaan 2”, gave us a glimpse of ancient Scythian culture. The findings inspired the Tuvan people into rejuvenating the previously laconic image of the centre-point obelisk.

The Russian sculptor, artist, jeweler, member of the Union of Russian Artists, Dashi Namdakov, interprets the current symbol of the central point of Asia as follows. “The symbols of the three elements present throughout Scythian culture are enshrined in the installation, namely, an obelisk directed to the sky with a pommel in the form of a deer figure, a globe with contours of the land continents and a fountain representing water. The bowl of the fountain is decorated with twelve animal figures, which in turn symbolize the 12-year calendar cycle adopted in the cultures of the East. Two dragons, He and She, personify the merger of two great rivers into the Yenisei.”

The composition, called “The Tsar’s Hunt” tells that the Tuva land has a great history, since the Scythian times, and managed to preserve traditions and customs in their original form. Parallel to the Republic’s historical continuity in culture, it is dynamically developing and moving forward.

The “Centre of Asia” cultural compound is the starting point of many journeys, and is inspirational for residents and guests. It links today to the ancient culture of the Scythians and the customs of nomadic life. Today, being the ‘Centre of Asia’ is one of the most recognisable aspects and nicknames of Tuva.